#ma'am this is untoward

[gurumakakari]

I am undecided whether I will be telling a sequential story or providing brief little interludes featuring these characters. Probably a mixture of both as the mood strikes me, which may make organization chaotic. But that's how it goes. Enjoy!

****

Prologue

It had been nearly 18 months since the allegations of systematic hazing had rocked the Remix Wrestling Federation, otherwise known as RWF. And in that time, Evelyn Taylor had devoted herself to cleaning up the locker room and ridding her company of the bad faith actors who had nearly destroyed the organization from the inside. At least, that's what it looked like to the outside world. In truth, Evelyn knew that the girls liked to have fun with one another. For the most part, it was harmless games and casual hook ups, and it wasn't so much hazing as it was…well, she still wasn't quite sure what to make of all of it. She had never seen what went on behind closed doors all that closely because she wasn't interested in prying into the personal lives of her talent like that. Being the CEO of a major wrestling promotion carried a massive set of responsibilities and challenges, and that meant Ms. Taylor simply couldn't be everywhere at once.

She had settled on a plan of action that certainly appeared to have solved the problem for good, but those in the know had an inkling that it might not be too long before the issue reared its head again. After all, the games the roster played with one another were hardly innocent, and Evelyn knew that. She also knew, however, that putting a stop to the practices entirely would cause her to have something of a mutiny on her hands. "Keep it away from my doorstep. That's all I ask," was the decree she had handed down after making her sweep of the company. In the end, a few talents had been shown the door. It hadn't been an easy decision to make, especially considering she'd ended the contract of one of the more accomplished veterans on the whole roster. But the hard decision was often the right one in her estimation, and the results appeared to have spoken for themselves. There had not been another public scandal or even an accusation of something untoward since that fateful week.

The day started like any other for RWF's CEO. She awoke at 4:30 in the morning after just under five hours of rest. The morning hours were the only ones she could operate without a guaranteed interruption of some pressing issue or another. After arriving at the office around 5:30, she settled in and began working her way through the day's to-do list. By the time her assistant arrived at 7:30, Taylor had already managed to secure the venues for their upcoming tour of Japan and strike up a new merchandising deal that would allow RWF to release a limited edition line of bobbleheads before the end of the year. In short, it was an amazingly productive morning, and she was in good spirits.

It wasn't altogether surprising when her assistant buzzed in to reminder her of an upcoming appointment with one of the talent. Various members of the locker room would wander in and out of the RWF office complex on days when there was no show to be run. Taylor was their boss after all, and naturally, it was usually beneficial to score a one on one sit down with the woman who signed the paychecks. The name she heard over the intercom, however, gave her pause. "Just a reminder, ma'am, that Kiki Fischer is due to arrive in the next 10 or 15 minutes."

Evelyn and Kiki had not been on the best of terms since the scandal had originally broken. Kiki's best friend at the time was someone Taylor and her investigators had deemed one of the main culprits of the so called illicit activity. And she fit the profile. As a long tenured veteran, Victoria Carter had held sway over the younger women in the locker room merely as a sign of respect and all that. It hadn't been too surprising for Evelyn to discover that the esteem Victoria had once held wasn't entirely a natural happenstance in the end. Carter's release had been the bombshell announcement that got the media off Taylor's back, but it had also led to a fissure between management and a certain sect of the locker room.

Fischer and Taylor had been cordial in passing since the fateful day, but there had been absolutely no private contact between the two. To hear that Kiki was on her way to see her had Evelyn a little flustered. But then again, she had expected this day to come for nearly this entire stretch of time. Without her tag partner and confidant, Fischer had been directionless in the locker room and on the shows. Her contract was set due to expire, and just about everyone in the know was predicting that neither RWF nor Kiki would seek an extension.

Evelyn spent the interceding minutes haphazardly rearranging some of the items on her desk. It was a nervous habit, one meant to center her and calm her down. Indeed, her heart had stopped racing by the time Fischer was set to arrive. Taylor took one final shaky exhale and turned off her monitor, intent on giving Kiki her complete and undivided attention. It was something many women under her employ had told her they appreciated about their meetings. Taylor didn't multitask, didn't dismissively wave off suggestions or concerns, and showed genuine concern for any and all topics of discussion. It was important to her to ensure Fischer felt comfortable and heard during this meeting, especially if it was to be a mutual parting of the ways.

The CEO waited for the buzzer to signify that Fischer had arrived in the waiting area. Five minutes passed. Then another three. Feeling antsy, Taylor pressed the intercom button. "Bridget, has Ms. Fischer arrived?" There was no response, which was quite unlike Bridget St. Clair. Her assistant was devoted to the position and rarely wandered off without alerting Evelyn to the possibility that the waiting area would be unsupervised for any period of time. Taylor anxiously drummed her fingers on her desk, annoyed that her assistant would be so careless. This was definitely worth a demerit.

But just as Evelyn moved to buzz in yet again, the door clicked and slid open just a little ways. "She's here," said Bridget in a lilting, breathy tone that honestly didn't sound anything like her. Then again, St. Clair was fairly prone to flirting with the talent when they stopped by to visit, and Taylor had to admit that Fischer wasn't wholly without her charms. Evelyn rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself. That silly assistant of hers!

"Alright, send her in." Evelyn put her head down to make a note on her daily ledger that she needed to have a quick sit down with Bridget before the end of the day. It wasn't a crime to enjoy yourself at work, but when it comes at the expense of the CEO's precious time, it's an issue that needs to be discussed. She heard the heavy footsteps moving across her carpet, indicating platform heels of some kind. Taylor snorted derisively to herself. These girls always putting fashion ahead of comfort and common sense. But when she looked up, that last little moment of normalcy evaporated.

Evelyn's eyes widened, and then her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her visitor said something. A word? A phrase? Taylor wasn't quite sure. All she knew was that the world was spinning. She fought against the rising sensation, but everything was fading away. It was familiar. Warm. Comfortable. Everything. She knew she had to resist this while she slumped back in her chair. This was not a situation becoming of the CEO of a major wrestling promotion. But as her fingers struggled to even maintain a grip on the armrests to try and ground her to reality, she felt an oncoming desire to do one thing and one thing only. Evelyn squirmed in her chair in one last attempt at bucking this.

And then she smiled.

#remix wrestling federation #rwf #gurumakakari original #evelyn taylor #bridget st clair

[islith]

These Cold Things

ㅤSnow.

ㅤㅤㅤIt was a thing she'd seen once before, as a child on a trip with her father. They took a long route to somewhere and ended up getting a little lost in their hurry to make good time. Their carriage wandered close to Coerthas, and she remembered seeing patches of white dotting along the roadside and a few stray, glimmering flakes drifting by with the wind.

ㅤㅤㅤThat was all she'd ever known of snow, having lived the whole of her life in Ul'dah and its surrounding majesties.

ㅤㅤㅤNow she stood in the thick of it, just past the guards of Falcon's Nest with tall, leather boots and a cloak tightly wrapped around her shoulders. She was used to the perils of the sun and its untempered heat, but the cold seemed a crueller beast. Even now, when the wind was low and the snow wasn't thick in the air, it felt dangerous. Dangerous in the way that every moment was borrowed. Like the very life of her was being siphoned out through her fingers, the tip of her nose, her ears and even the ends of her toes which were covered in thick woolen socks. It was cold, and quiet, save for the crunch of ice beneath her boot.

ㅤㅤㅤShe was out here on the wayside to forage for a particular bush whose bark held medicinal properties. An old woman in town had described it as "haggish", and black, and Islith could only suppose such a descriptor would be enough to discern it from every other brownish-black, twiggy thing poking up from the snowdrifts.

ㅤㅤㅤWhile she searched she couldn't help but let her mind wander back to two nights prior. An impossibly warm room, a fierce pair of fiery eyes, strong hands, the scent of woodsmoke and rust.

ㅤㅤㅤShe wet her lips.

ㅤㅤㅤWould it be untoward of her to visit the dragoon again? Islith struggled with that thought in more than one way. She wondered if he thought her a woman of no good moral character, someone who took a lover like an accessory and changed it out on a whim, to suit her tastes. She wondered whether or not it would be a disservice to herself to tangle the threads of her heart more than she already had. He was handsome and dangerous in the way the cold was.

ㅤㅤㅤShe wondered too if he had such misgivings. The other he. The one whose name she didn't want to say, not even to herself. If he was spending his nights in a lonely, cold bed, or if she was far from his thoughts while he pursued his own ambitions. They left things on such uncertain terms, but nevertheless, they left things.

ㅤㅤㅤIslith forced herself not to linger overlong on such thoughts, and just as she was about to investigate a promising looking shrub-

ㅤㅤㅤ"Ho! What are you doing out here, ma'am?"

ㅤㅤㅤAn elezen on the back of a tall and bulky white chocobo peered down at her. He wore a guardsman's uniform, but his merry disposition and his smooth brow betrayed his youth.

ㅤㅤㅤIslith looked up, squinting for the brightness of the afternoon sun distilling through the cloud cover.

ㅤㅤㅤ"Minding my own," she said pointedly, and without much kindness.

ㅤㅤㅤThe guard huffed and points beyond her, down the marked path that led into the icy wilds behind her.

ㅤㅤㅤ"We don't appreciate unprepared travellers past those last two braziers," he motioned. A couple of unlit, unkept braziers sat a few hundred yalms down from where she was. Islith noted it marked a short pass beneath a rocky outcrop, beyond which was concealed by a jagged ice shelf that jutted out from the hillside.

ㅤㅤㅤ"People get lost, we end up having to find them but we're often too late. Finish whatever you're doing here, if you please, and then return to town."

ㅤㅤㅤAnd with that he rounded his mount and started back up the hill to Falcon's Nest, leaving Islith to her thoughts and the quiet and the cold once more.

#ffxiv rp #ffxiv roleplay #ff14 #ffxiv #Islith moved to Ishgard after heartbreak #It's cold here damn

[galahadwilder]

Delirious Ladybug

Chapter 4: Meet the Parents

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AO3

Delirious Ladybug Archive

*

Adrien had meant to wake up early the next morning so that he could head home before Marinette or her parents woke up. Meant to.

He woke up to find Sabine Cheng looming over him, having climbed up into Marinette's bed to check in on her daughter. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, and Chat Noir had never been more grateful that Ladybug had cleared his name after the Copycat incident. And he was very happy that neither one of them screamed.

"What are you doing in my daughter's bed?" Marinette's mother hissed.

"I swear I didn't mean to!" Chat whispered back. "I was just dropping by to check on her, and she... um..." He swallowed. "She invited me up. Which, I promise, sounds worse than it is!"

She glared at him for a moment. "My daughter is sick!" she said. "Is now really the best time for you to—"

"I know!" Chat hissed. "That's why I'm here! She seemed so out of it earlier, and I just wanted to make sure she was all right!"

Instantly, Sabine's expression softened. "Oh," she said. "You're trying to look after her, aren't you?"

Chat nodded, relieved. "Much as I can." He glanced down at the sleeping girl beside him. "She pulled me up, wouldn't take no for an answer."

Sabine laughed. "Yes, that's our Marinette," she said, reaching down to Chat Noir. "Why don't we get you some breakfast?"

He grasped her hand and let her pull him upright. "Oh, no, ma'am, that's all right, there's no need to—"

"I insist," she interrupted with a smile. "I was wondering why she'd slept so soundly last night."

She brought Chat down into the kitchen—the family kitchen, not the bakery—where they found the absolutely GIANT man that was Marinette's father. "How is she, dear?" he said, before turning and seeing Chat Noir and shooting to his feet. "What are you doing here?" he growled.

Sabine laid a hand on Tom's chest. "Gentle, dearest," she said. "He was looking after our daughter. Nothing untoward."

Tom narrowed his eyes down at the cat. "You're not lying to me, are you boy?"

Chat swallowed. "No sir," he said, saluting. "Cat's honor."

Sabine laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. "I invited him to stay for breakfast, since he took so much time out of his busy schedule to look after our Marinette." She looked at him. "How do you know her, anyway?"

"Oh, we're in the same class," Chat said, pulling out a chair for himself.

"And you said she seemed out of it earlier?"

"Yeah?"

"You must be Adrien, then," Sabine said. "Marinette's said so much about you."

Enjoy my writing? Buy me a coffee!

Delirious Ladybug Archive

#ml distractathon #miraculous ladybug #delirious ladybug #chat noir #sabine cheng #tom dupain #identity reveal #original content #sickfic #my fic #fluff

[mindfulwrathwrites]

The Extra-Mancer (Part 1 of 2)

I’ve been doing a thing-a-day writing challenge this month (hit me up if you want the prompts list) and came out with a piece I really liked, so here it is!

Words: 1,077 Warnings: Some descriptions of gore

(Link to Part 2)

If the healer fails, you call a necromancer.

If the necromancer fails, you call me.

"Gelatinous cube?" I asked.

The dame nodded. She kept her back to the body. I couldn't blame her. It was messy. Not the messiest I'd ever seen, but it was up there. Whatever two-bit hellraiser she'd called in to try and cheat the Raven Queen had made it worse. Amateurs.

"Hard luck," I said. I rolled up my sleeves. "What's the name?"

"Erwin Tozu."

I gave Erwin Tozu the occult once-over. Diligence pays in my line of work. When the healers and necromancers can't get somebody back, it's usually because something else already has them.

"Warlock?" I asked.

"War—gods, no, of course not!"

"Cleric."

"No, nothing of the sort. He just made boots. That's all. He just made boots."

"Huh. So how'd the cube get him?"

"I don't know."

I put down Erwin Tozu's hand. No markings there, except a few scars. You get to know those kinds of scars. They're hard to miss. As messy as the body was, it'd be easy to miss a tattoo or a brand, though. I'd give him a more thorough look-over once the dame had come clean.

"You sure?" I asked. She was shook up. Anybody would be, but something seemed off.

"I—yes, of course."

"Lady, I can't help you if you won't be straight with me. Up until now, you've been playing with gods, and gods play by rules. The wily, slimy, toothy creeps I handle—I put one toe wrong, and it's me on that table. So you better come clean, and you better do it quick, or you can take little Erwin here to the undertaker, see?"

The dame gulped. She was awful pale all of a sudden. She took out her handkerchief and strangled it.

"He . . . he fell in with a bad crowd. I don't know when, or who, exactly, but—he was a good boy, Mr. Valxies. A kind boy, a gentle boy. I know he only had good intentions, I know he never would have pledged himself to anything—anything untoward, I know he wouldn't."

"Except this bad crowd, huh?"

She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. I'd never seen anybody do that outside of a stage. Either she was acting, or her world and my world were as far apart as fiction is from reality.

"He wanted so badly to do good, he really did," she simpered. Never heard a simper offstage, either. "He—when he was little, he used to talk about saving the world. First it was—oh, but you don't care, it doesn't matter."

"It could. Tell me."

"I remember it like it was yesterday. When he first learned to play, he must have been four or five, just a little thing, he said he'd write a song that would—"

I turned around. I picked up Erwin Tozu's other hand. Under the mangling, between the scars, each finger had a thick, hard callous.

"Bard," I hissed.

"Excuse me?"

I dropped that hand, too. No fiend or Old One would be caught dead patronizing some piddly little string-plucker from Swamptown, Nowhere.

"Was he any good?" I asked.

"I don't see what that—"

I rounded on her. "It has everything to do with it. Was he any good, or not?"

"He was—he was very good, exceptional, we always said if he ever wanted to pursue it—"

"Well hot damn," I said. I cracked my neck. I picked up my hat and nestled it in between my horns. "Never been to the Feywild before. This should be fun."

"Oh? It—you'll take it? You'll take the case?"

She was about to start crying again. I put my professional face back on. Professionals get paid more.

"Yes ma'am," I said. "One last question first: who is he to you?"

"My son," she said. I could've guessed that. Better to be sure. "His . . . friends brought him back to me after the healer and the—the other one."

"Huh," I sneered. "Sweet of them."

"And, Mr. Valxies? Thank you."

"It's my job, ma'am."

"No, no. Thank you for not saying was. Who was he."

A little thing like that might almost be enough to make you feel something. I got a hand on the dame's shoulder and steered her to the door. Wasn't easy—I'm a tall guy and she was a short goblin.

"Can't make any promises," I told her. "That whole plane's slipperier than a Hasted slug-demon covered in grease. Could be back in ten minutes, could be ten years. It's all down to luck. No promises."

"Thank you for trying," she said again. "Thank you, thank you for trying to bring him back—"

I set her outside the door. "If I get your boy back, I expect my fee paid in full up-front, no excuses. If you don't hear back in a week, invest it in something else. Odds are I won't be coming back at all."

"Oh—but surely—"

I shut the door on her. Everybody gets a case of the but-surelies when the dying thing comes up. It gets real old real quick. Corpses were much cooler about it, even Erwin Tozu's. Under all the blood and slime and viscera, his clothes used to be bright blue. Maybe a flash of gold embroidery here and there.

Bards. Like target practice if the targets did musical theater that got stuck in your head. I'd had more damn bards come through here. . . .

"Okay, pal," I said to the corpse of Erwin Tozu. "You got yourself in a real pickle, and I'm about to jump in the vinegar with you."

His corpse didn't answer. Good sign, meant I wouldn't be going to pastel hell with a side of sparkles for nothing. I took my bag off its hook, started gathering my supplies. What do you pack for the Feywild? Grit and luck and every weaselly trick you can get your hands on. Food and water, or something to trade for it. I left the pocket watch. I knew enough to know it wouldn't do me any good.

Was it wrong to be excited? If it was, I wouldn't want to be right.

My name is Arrhenius Valxies. My great-grandfather still makes his infernal living stealing souls. I guess you could say I'm carrying on the family tradition.

Except I steal them back.

#snippets #8 Jun 2019 #original fiction #flash fiction #d&d #fantasy #noir

[sher-soc-the-famder]

MIRACULOUSLY THEIR OWN- CHAPTER 8

Not Every Card’s A Trump Part 7

Word count: 5904

Pairings: Romantic Royaltiy, Platonic LAMP

Warnings: Child abuse, Homophobia, Violence, Racism

Notes: I’m totally slaying at this being productive at writing thing lately, have yet another thing from me XD This chapter’s a dozy so feel free to come scream at me on the Discord that Milo set up! They also drew an awesome banner that y’all should also scream about! Art by @the-pastel-peach? yeah that’s relevant now

ANYWAYS huge thanks to @wisepuma23 for being best Alpha and @my-happy-little-bean for being best beta! Enjoy!

Read On AO3

First | <== Previous | Next ==>

The lobby stood silent. Roman just breathed for a long moment, glaring down at Ms. Trumpbull. Dillan's hand still touched his arm lightly, and it was only years of working with the man that kept Roman from shrugging it off in his anger. Lauren's hand covered her mouth, Kai on the other hand looked darkly satisfied about the outcome.

"Assault!" Trumpbull screeched, breaking the silence. "This is assault! How dare-!" 

She took a step towards Roman, who bared his teeth, more than ready to accept her challenge to throw down. Dillan's hand on arm increased in pressure before Dillan moved to stand in front of him. Roman breathed deeply, staring at Dillan's dreadlocks rather than the accursed woman.

"Hey, hey, let's all calm down," Dillan suggested. Roman couldn't see it but he knew the mild smile that would be on Dillan's face. One that wouldn't quite reach the anger in his eye. "We wouldn't want the manager to get involved." 

Kai snickered from Roman's left. "Oh, please. Let's get that bastard involved with the bitch. You could sell tickets for the ensuing cat fight." 

Lauren elbowed him in the side. Roman felt some of the anger and stress flow off of his shoulders at the familiar banter. No matter what came of this, his theater crew- apologies Kai- Pirate Crew would have his back. Kai smirked at Roman, and Roman felt his lips twitch into a real smile at the action. 

"No!" Trumpbull shouted. "Let's do get the manager involved! I demand to speak with the imbecile in charge of a circus like this!” She pulled herself up to her full height and her arms clawed through the air, not so different from the dragon he had compared her to once. “How dare you speak to me like that, boy! How disrespectful! Who’s in charge of this place? I demand to speak with him!" 

Roman could see the tension along Dillan's back at her words. His blood boiled, and it took all he had not to snap back at the woman. He could get away with so much more than Dillan and Roman knew that. He had already taken advantage of that already. Violence now could get Dillan in trouble. That and Rebecca's arm ghosting over his right arm as she entered the scene held him back. 

"Dillan," Rebecca said softly, "Larry wants to know why he's missing half his cast with only fifteen minutes until opening curtains." 

Dillan didn't look away from Trumpbull. He swept his hands out in a 'look here' gesture.

"Well we have a rather rowdy audience member," he said in the same smooth tone. "She wants to see the manager of 'this circus' is how she put it?" 

"Ah," Rebecca said. Her shoulders straightened as she turned to face Trumpbull. “I am a manager. What can I do for you tonight?”

“You?” Trumpbull screeched. Her eyes racked down Rebecca, catching on her hijab. Roman’s eyes flickered between the two women. “You’re a manager? No wonder this trash heap is falling apart if someone like you is in charge.”

Rebecca quirked an eyebrow up and Roman heard Dillan whisper from next to him, "Oh shit. Don't forget to leave something to bury 'Becca."

"Not the manager I was thinking of, but tear her to fucking pieces Rebecca!" Kai shouted, crossing his arm. Lauren hissed something at him; Roman couldn't catch it through his pounding heartbeat. Dillan reach down to grip his wrist and Roman almost wanted to cry.

He hadn't meant for this to happen. He should have been able to control himself. It had been years since he lashed out at anyone, and god, Patton was going to be so disappointed in him. They were never going to let them see Logan again. Any progress they made was chucked right into the bin because Roman couldn't hold his emotions back for a full stupid thirty seconds.

"I have to ask you to refer to this work space and the employees that work here with respect ma'am," Rebecca's calm voice cut through his thoughts. Her eyes flickered over to him for a moment before returning to Trumpbull, "We accept people of all walks of life here, being a community theater. I am more than happy to speak to you about your complaints, but if you continue to yell I will have to ask you to leave the premise."

Rebecca paused, a shark scenting blood in the water. "There are children present after all."

Trumpbull's heavy breathing echoed through their lobby. One brave man inched past her with a look of contempt as he went to his seat. Her hands opened and closed into fists and Roman tensed up again. If she attacked Rebecca then he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions.

Rebecca, on the other hand, looked unruffled by the threatening actions. She stood her ground, waiting for Trumpbull to speak.

"Your employee–” Ms. Trumpbell shot a sharp glare at Roman– “assaulted me. I demand that he be dismissed on the spot for this transgression!" Roman thought he could hear her teeth grind from the way Trumpbull growled out her words. She pointed at him and he stiffened.

"He attacked me out of nowhere, and having such a violent individual on the premise has to be a danger to your customers!"

Rebecca nodded, and Roman's heart sank. 

"You have a point," Rebecca said steadily. "And we do have procedure for dangerous individuals." She turned, winked at Roman and then addressed-

"Kai, could you, perhaps, tell me what happened here?"

"Excuse me-!" Trumpbull's screeched, and Rebecca turned back to look at her with a hard stare. Trumpbull's jaw clenched in frustration but her volume dropped. "Are you saying that my word isn't good enough for you?" 

Rebecca waved her hand in a soothing motion. 

"I am simply getting the full story," she said, her eyes glittering with something fierce and steady. Roman had seen that look directed at him once. He tried not to let it ever happen again. "We wouldn't want there to be a misunderstanding, would we?" 

Trumpbull whole body shook, and it took everything Roman had not to step in front of Rebecca. He trusted that she could take care of herself, but he was never quite satisfied with that. Not when Rebecca and Dillan tended to walk home together for safety, and not when Trumpbull looked ready to throttle someone.

“No,” Trumpbull gritted out. “No, we wouldn’t.”

Rebecca nodded sharply and turned back to Kai. He looked over the scene with lidded eyes, a cat having found the perfect moment to pounce.

“I have no fucking clue what the bitch is going on about,” Kai said lazily. “All I saw Roman do was make a bomb-ass kid’s night with Lauren’s makeup.”

“I would say it was more than the makeup,” Lauren said with a grin. She nudged his side before threading her fingers through his. Roman stared at the two of them, confused, but heart fit for bursting anyways. “Just because you refuse to acknowledge their acting doesn’t mean it’s not here.”

“So you didn’t see anything?” Rebecca pressed.

“Will it get you off my ass if I say I did?” Kai asked dryly. Rebecca shot him a hard look before turning to Dillan, who leaned into Roman’s side. Fuck, what did he do to deserve friends like these? Dillan clearly didn’t need any more prompting from Rebecca, opening his mouth right away.

“I came in later, but all I know is that Ro’ was upset. He’s a chill gay- I mean guy, you know that ‘Becca. Anything that can get him riled up isn’t good in my books.” He waved his free hand, face incredible steady for what Roman knew was a bald faced lie. Roman got worked up over everything and everyone. “I just wanted to defuse the situation because high emotions can lead to bad acting.”

Rebecca stared at them all for a long moment, and Roman could have sworn that her lips twitched upwards before settling back into her smooth unworried expression. She turned back to Trumpbull.

“Unless you can find someone to collaborate on your story, ma’am, I am inclined to believe that you are making things up in order to harass one of our employees,” Rebecca said, hands folded in front of her. “Which, I should point out, is grounds for us to remove you from the premises.”

Trumpbull gapped at them, mouth opening and closing as her face turned back to an angry red. She pointed at Kai with a shaking finger, then Dillan, then Roman, and then back to Kai. Roman wondered if her head was literally going to explode.

“You’re all lying!” She shouted, eyes wild. “Slander! They want to slander me with these lies! It’s all a conspiracy! You just want- want to attack me because you think that he-” She jabbed her finger at Roman again- “is an actual decent person! He’s a monster! A- a- a-”

She cast her eyes about, skittering away from their stone cold faces. Roman fought against the urge to bite his lips. The Crew would support him no matter what, but he didn’t know about the audience. They could fall either way.

Then, very quietly, from his side, the mother of the boy he had been talking too spoke up.

“Excuse me? Ms, uh, manager, ma’am?” The woman stiffened as all eyes turned on her, but she threw back her shoulders. “He was only talking to us when she came up to harass him. I didn’t see anything… untoward happen to her, only to him.”

Rebecca smiled at the woman, as an agreement rippled through the remaining crowd. Roman’s chest ached as he caught sight of the mother’s gentle smile, and he looked away before he did something embarrassing like burst into tears then and there. He didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t this.

“Then that it is all I need to know,” Rebecca said gently. She turned to frown at Trumpbull, steel in her eyes. “We don’t welcome people like you here. Please vacate the premises before we are forced to take drastic actions, such as calling the police.”

Trumpbull stared at them all. Roman’s shoulders crept upwards the longer that Rebecca stared her down and the matron didn’t move. Trumpbull sent him one last nasty glare, her black eye just starting to turn purple before turning on her heels and storming out of the building.

“Please let the door hit your ass on the way out!” Kai shouted after her, and Lauren snickered. Dillan’s hand slipped down to grip Roman’s. Roman could see Patton hurrying towards them through the crowd, worry clear on his face. Rebecca tsked under her breath.

“Such an unpleasant woman. I hope there isn’t anyone like that at Daliah’s new school.”

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” Roman agreed through his tight throat. Rebecca grinned at him, fleeting and bright before clapping her hands together.

“Five minutes to curtains, let’s get a move on actors!”

Patton threw himself into Roman’s arms. Roman pulled him tight against his chest. He buried his face in Patton's hair, taking comfort in the familiar scent and feel. He would have loved to stand there with Patton forever, but it was almost curtains.

“I have something to tell you,” Patton said quickly as Roman pulled back. He hesitated.

“Later,” he said, gesturing to the stage. “I have to-”

Patton squeezed his hands. Bright eyes searched his own. Patton gave him the sweetest smile before nodding.

“Later then.”

Logan tried to enjoy the more relaxed atmosphere that was around the group home that night. Trumpbull had gone to do something on her day off and the relief of the other children was an almost physical thing. Logan wanted to enjoy it like they did. He wanted to read his book in true peace while he had the chance.

Only his peace had been shattered and Logan wanted nothing more than to scream. Scream or cry, he wasn't sure quite yet. He wouldn't. He refused. He wasn't going to let anyone, let alone an adult, control his heart. He struggled to keep his attention on the book in front of him, shoving thoughts of Pat- adults away.

His eyes scanned over the words, not quite processing them. He stared at the picture of a family before shaking his head violently. He slammed the book shut, glaring at the far wall. Shrieks and shouts from the other room drifted through his open window. He didn’t need a family. He didn’t need anyone.

Logan stood up stiffly, and shoved the book back onto the shelf. He winced at the soft thunk and ran a finger over the spine in quiet apology. It wasn’t the book’s fault. He probably shouldn’t have been reading a fantasy based plot anyways. Tuck Everlasting was nice, but wouldn’t help him in the future. He needed to set aside fiction to be the best he could be.

Logan would need it to get out of here as soon as he could.

He swayed towards the wind that blew through the window. His eyes drifted to the flag that he knew marked the local school. Only a month and a half until he could return to the only place that felt marginally safe in his life. He would impress whatever new teachers he had and maybe, just maybe he would be able to get them to move him up another grade.

Logan leaned against the windowsill. He tried not to put too much weight on his cut arms. They had only just reached the point he didn’t need to bandage them anymore, and he would rather not have to come up with an excuse for more. The stock that he kept stashed in the back of his closet was starting to run a little low. Logan made a mental note to make his way to the nurse to swipe a few more when he had the chance. It was better to be prepared than to be caught off guard and have to come up with an excuse as to what had happened.

He closed his eyes and let the breeze ruffle his hair. His shoulders felt tight enough to snap, but Logan was determined to at least enjoy the last of the time without Trumpbull before she came back. He needed to center himself, to be ready for whatever came next.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, raising as a heavy weight settled on his chest. Logan opened his eyes, and he blinked, looking around for the source of his discomfort. His eyes landed on the subject of his thoughts, Trumpbull, glaring at the window he was in before storming into the group home.

The hair on his arms joined his neck in standing up straight. Logan shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest. He took a shuddering breath, hoping that she wouldn’t come up to find him. It wasn’t likely; it was foolish to expect anything else, but Logan wasn’t ready. He frantically wracked his brain, searching for what he could have done to set her off.

He had time to hide. The thought was a selfish dangerous one. She could end up even angrier at him for avoiding her. She could take her anger out on a different child who would turn the rest of the home against him. She could find him and punish him for avoiding what he had done to avoid discipline.

The closet taunted him.

Logan whimpered, biting down on his lips. So much for ignoring his feelings. He could feel the pounding of his heart beat against his chest, the way that his hands twisted in his sleeves to keep from shaking. He didn’t know what he had done wrong.

He didn’t know.

Logan hated not knowing. Power was knowledge, and power kept him safe. Knowledge and learning kept him safe. If he knew her habits, he could avoid the worst of her. If he knew what set her off, he could brace himself every time he broke one of her rules. If he knew, then he could act.

Logan felt his shaking increase. He hadn’t spoken back to her. He hadn’t sasses another matron, hadn’t been with anyone so he couldn’t have failed to live up to her expectations. His nails dug into his arm. He had done his chores. He had kept curfew and had put all books away at the time she had wanted him too. He had followed all her rules to the letter.

The shouts from the room over fell silent. Logan could hear the footsteps approaching his room. He backed up, shoulder slamming against the open window. He flinched and scrambled to close it. His fingers fumbled at the latch, his brain screaming at him that he was taking too long, he was taking too long, he was taking too long-

The window fell shut with a click. The door knob rattled. Logan struggled to swallow, his heart pounding in his ears.

The door slammed against the wall; the only noise along the entire hall. It echoed in Logan’s ears as his eyes zeroed in on Trumpbull. He couldn’t feel his fingers twisted in his sleeves. He could see the way her chest heaved. He bit his lip. He traced the way her hands flexed.

He couldn’t breathe.

Logan waited for the usual mocking words, the ones that would let him know what he had done wrong. He would be able to go from there. He braced himself, digging his nails into his arms until the cuts hidden there stung. His eyes caught on the bruise that bloomed blue and purple across her cheek into her eye.

He only had a moment to wonder what had happened before his head snapped to the side.

Logan could feel the heat bloom on his cheek from the slap. His hand flew to the spot in surprise as he stared at Trumpbull with wide eyes. Her face twisted, her eyes glittered with anger, and Logan’s feet tingled with nerves. She hadn’t said anything.

She had never hurt him without telling him why first.

Trumpbull wanted to feel like she could teach him to be better. She never shut up about how it was for his own good. Logan had taken comfort in the fact he could predict her most days because of how much she ran her mouth. He had thought silence would be a good thing. He would have thought it meant he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Terror crept into his chest and made its home there. He couldn’t stop his shoulders from trembling. He tried to shuffle a step back to give himself time to put his scattering thoughts together. His heel bumped against the bed frame. The bed rattled, just enough to draw attention, and Logan closed his eyes in horrified resignation.

The taunts he expected didn’t arise. Her hand snapped out, wrapping around the hand still cradling his face. She wrenched it away and Logan tripped over himself as she dragged him towards the door. He twisted in her grip. His skin pinched at the action, and Logan felt tears gather at the edges of his eyes. He couldn’t fight her, not really, but it gave him a false comfort to try.

He hiccuped, trying to hold his sobs back. Trumpbull shot him a glare. Logan brought his free hand up to try and muffle the sounds he was making. He hoped that one of the other matrons came to check on him. They never had before – not when he had proven to be perfectly independent on his own – but the terror making itself known in his chest cried for the opposite.

Her nails dug into his wrist. Their footsteps echoed in the halls. Logan thought he caught sight of some of the other kids scrambling to get out of sight. One almost met his eyes before slamming the door shut. Logan wanted to blame them. But he would have done the same in their place.

He squeezed his eyes shut as Trumpbull dragged him towards the basement. She yanked at his arm. He yelped at the pain, eyes snapping back open as he tried to keep from falling over.

Logan stared at the door to the basement, biting back sobs as she hurled it open. The doorknob hit the wall with a deafening rattle. Logan shrunk back. He didn’t know what he had done wrong. He didn’t know what to expect.  

She yanked on his arm again, pulling him towards the gaping darkness. He tripped over his feet trying to follow the path she wanted. He reached out with his free hand for the rail.

Later, much later, Logan would guess that Trumpbull simply wanted him to hurry up. At least, that’s what he would always want to believe. That she hadn’t thought about what her action could cause. Even in his worst times, he didn’t want to contemplate the worst of that moment.

Trumpbull let go of his wrist. Logan took a single step down the stairs. A large hand pressed against his back and shoved.

The world spun on an axis; Logan had read that in a book, had learned that in a science class. He couldn’t keep track of which way it spun anymore as his fell. His heart leapt as his hands snapped out in an attempt to catch himself. He felt something crack as his right wrist hit the first stair. The air knocked out of his lungs from the pain, leaving him unable to scream.

His feet flew over his head. His hand flew out, scraping against the wall as he tried to grab the rail. Fire bloomed along his fingertips. Distantly, he saw the flecks of blood he left behind.

A crack rung through his head. The world exploded into the stars. Logan curled into himself. His good arm coming up to protect his head as he rag-dolled down the rest of the stairs. His stomach twisted, and Logan had to fight down the urge to throw up as he slammed against the door at the bottom of the stairs.

His shoulders shook, and the smallest motion sent sparks up his arm and head. He sobbed, curling even more, until he was the smallest ball he could manage. He cradled one hand to his chest while the other covered his head. Blood dripped down his temple and Logan tasted tears on his lips.

Trumpbull’s calm steps down the stairs echoed in his head, doubling and tripling like his sight. He watched her descend with growing horror. The fire in her eye hadn’t dampened in the slightest. That, at least, he knew. She wasn’t done yet.

He couldn’t force himself to move.

“You could have killed me,” he whispered, the sound almost non-existent, a simple movement of his lips. “I could have died.”

Trumpbull leaned over him. The door to the basement unlocked with a soft click. Everything in Logan screamed as she stepped over him, calm as her normal days. He thought that he had seen the worst of her. He had thought that he would finally escape, that Patton and Roman would take him away.

Her hands reached down for him, and Logan tried to stop thinking at all.

It was warm. The summer stars shone overhead and Logan traced constellations against the window. A paradox of something that felt completely natural to do, almost mindless, and something that he needed to think about in order to make sure he got them right. Hercules, Libra, Big Dipper, Little Dipper.

He hissed as his left arm jostled his right. Pain radiated along the length of his arm and he curled into a tighter ball in an attempt to alleviate it. It wasn’t rational. It wouldn’t actually help. It was simply his body trying to protect his most vulnerable parts. The way his ribs ached with every breath declared that it had already failed at that.

He breathed, shallow and pained, squeezing his eyes shut until he could gather the energy to peel them back open. His hand shook as he turned back to tracing the constellations. If he wasn’t thinking about the way his arm had cracked against the wall when-

His breath shuddered. Logan glanced away from the window. He tugged his legs up to his chest carefully, biting down on his tongue as his ankle protested the movement. The crackling of his dried blood sounded all too loud in the silent entrance. But he could prop his right arm up against his legs, allowing his shoulders to finally relax.

Even if relax was a bit of a… hyperbole.

For all that Logan tried to occupy his mind, he still flinched at every noise. The crickets outside refused to fade to white noise. The wood of the group home groaned with the changing temperature. His ears strained as he thought he heard someone shuffling in their bed. His fingers on the window pressed down hard enough to turn white.

The cuts from the closet caught the moon light and Logan jerked his hand back. A sob caught in his throat. He brought his good hand up to scrub at his face. He winced as the action pulled at his black eye.

Logan didn't know why. Trumpbull always had a reason, but he couldn’t find it. He couldn’t figure out why, after being so careful, she would hurt him so obviously. His ears rang, and bile clawed at his throat. His thoughts had scattered from the moment she had thrown him down the stairs and it had only gotten worse after-

He squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the thought before it could fully form. He already knew that shaking his head was a bad idea. Logan wondered if he should have read more about head injuries.

More tears welled in his eyes and he scrubbed even hard despite the pain. Tears only brought more pain. Logan’s breath stuttered in his chest, his ribs screaming in protest at the action. He shouldn’t cry. Crying only made things worse.

He pressed his hand against his face, struggling for control.

A single thought crept through his mind and Logan shied away from it on principle. Maybe Trumpbull was right. He bit down on his lip, shoulders shaking even more. He hated the very idea of agreeing with her. She was a monster, inhuman, an alien, anything that lacked compassion and empathy.

-- But where had compassion and empathy gotten him?

Anger flooded his chest, washing away his pain for a glorious moment. It wasn’t fair. He tried and tried and tried. If he was too smart, they hated him. If he was too dumb, they hated him. Too loud, too quiet, too unnerving, too normal. No matter what he did the world hated him. Well he was done.

They wouldn’t make him play their games anymore.

Not when it was such a stupid one.

Logan’s hand dug into his chest. He didn’t want to feel anymore. Caring only got him hurt. Anger was useless when he couldn’t stand against the people who made him feel that way. Dreams were only his brain compressing memories from the day. Love only set him up for failure. There was no rational reason to keep hoping. To keep extending his pain the way he had all this time.

The wood of the home creaked above him, and his anger fled. His shoulders slumped and he leaned his head back against the window frame. He closed his eyes and could imagine the gulf that he stood over. No one would catch him if he fell.

Fine then. He’d been catching himself this long.

He tipped over, letting his heart disappear into the void below. He wouldn’t need it anymore. From now on, Logan would focus on what was logical; on what made sense and could be predicted. He’d protect himself by getting rid of the reason he needed to be protected at all.

A door opened, squeaking with unoiled hinges. Logan's head snapped up, eyes scanning the hall for whoever would be approaching him. Trumpbull had never come back after her "discipline" but then again, she had always said something and she hadn't. It was reasonable to assume that with so many of her other habits, her own little rules broken, that she would break even more. 

Or it could be one of the other children. 

There was always one on the Bad Days. 

Logan's shoulders relaxed at the small footsteps, not heavy enough to be an adult. Which meant that he was safer -- not safe, never safe, but at least in no danger of getting hurt more -- until the morning. They only came to check on him once Trumpbull's snore started to echo down the halls. 

Logan turned to stare out the window, trying to come up with what he would tell them this time. The world had shattered beneath his feet. What could he possibly tell them to explain how different things were? Seeing was believing but Logan didn't think that they'd believe him even with the blood caked along his neck and temple. 

He'd always been the exception after all. The one that made Trumpbull's blood boil over no matter what he did. He was never going to be enough- 

Logan shoved the thought and the feelings that came with it back down. He wasn't going to feel anything any more. It didn't matter. He needed to focus on the coming days. 

A small head peered around the corner. 

"Logan?" Emmet whispered. He inched closer and Logan watched him dully. Emmet shuffled his feet, eyes glued more on the door than Logan himself. 

"You wouldn't make it far," Logan said dully, thinking about his own wish to run away. They were too young to not attract attention. Nine and eight. Someone would notice; someone would call the police for their reputation if nothing else. 

"O-oh," Emmet startled, eyes glancing wildly around the dark, "I was just- I mean, you know that-" Emmet drew up short and stared at him with wide eyes. His freckles stood out on his pale face. His whisper dropped to more of just his lips moving. "Are you alright?" 

Logan shrugged his shoulder, biting back a whimper as it moved his right arm. Emmet flinched at the noise, wringing his hands together. 

"Ri- Right, stupid question, uh, right, stay there,  I'll just-" Emmet spun on his heels and ran back into the hallways. Logan watched him go, blinking slowly. Because of course not even the other children could behave the way he expected them to. He had just about figured out what to say too. 

He leaned his head back again, listening to the flutter of a bird outside. 

Whispers echoed down the hall, overlapping the pattering of feet. Logan sighed. They would have been quieter coming in one by one. He wondered if they were even bothering to avoid the louder floorboards. Not that it mattered with the noise they were making already. If they were lucky, the matrons were as exhausted as they normally were and would sleep through it all.

Emmet's head reappeared, and he gestured at whoever was behind him before hurrying over to Logan. He hopped over the one floorboard that they all knew creaked too loud, landing lightly on his feet before stopping in front of Logan. He chewed on his lip; Logan stared at him dully before turning to the other.

Amelia caught his attention immediately, whispering to one of the younger girls and adjusting the box she carried. Half a dozen kids spilled into the entrance and a familiar voice broke the near silence. Logan blinked. 

"So bookworm," Edgar snapped, stalking closer to him, "What's this about you finally getting the Bull to snap?" 

"Does it count as snapping if she's been on the edge for years?" Logan murmured, and blinked again at the silence that reigned. Logan glanced up as something flit through Edgar's eyes. Edgar sighed heavily, scrubbing at his hair. 

"Oh fuck you," Edgar said, flopping down to sit next to Logan. Close enough that Logan could feel his body heat but not quite touching. "I don't know why I bother with shit- don't look at me like that Sarah, a few curse words aren't gonna hurt the younger ones more than the Bull would." 

A couple of the kids giggled. Edgar cut a glance at Logan, who stared back at him. Edgar sighed and Logan wondered why he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck bookworm, at least tell me that you learned something useful while being beat to all hell and back." 

"No," Logan replied. 

Everyone froze. Edgar's teeth grit almost audibly. Logan idly hoped that his teeth would crack from the force of it before reminding himself that hope went nowhere. Statistically though, grinding teeth ended in damage, and Logan let his mind drift in that direction. Someone snapped their fingers near his face and Logan jerked back. 

"Hey Ed, I don't know if now's the best time-" Amelia started to say. Logan's eyes drifted from Edgar's hand to Amelia's face. She clutched the box in her hand tightly, knuckles an almost glowing white in the dark. 

"If we don't talk to him now, he won't remember anything in the morning," Edgar snapped. "He may not have the sense to stay on the Bull's good side, but I'm not going to be the reason more kids end up like him!" 

"You might not have a choice," Logan whispered. Edgar's head whipped in his direction. 

"What did you just say?" Edgar demanded. 

Logan's body trembled, and he tried to will it to stop. His control slipped from his fingers, his attempts to not think about what had happened falling through his barricades like sand. The whispers of the other kids sounded too distant and unreal. They didn't understand. They couldn't understand. 

Their reality was about to get so much worse. 

"I said," Logan croaked out, "you might not have a choice." 

"Bullshit," Edgar snapped. Logan leaned back as Edgar leaned in even closer. Edgar's eyes looked him over, slowly almost like he cared which Logan knew was a lie. He was like a book to Edgar. Useful for his knowledge and nothing more. Edgar scrubbed at his face again. "Let's just get this over with, bookworm. The faster you talk, the faster the others can feel good about themselves by wrapping you up like a mummy." 

"There isn't anything to say," Logan said simply, and plowed forward when Edgar opened his mouth again. "She certainly didn't say anything." His trembling worsened. "She didn't say anything. I don't know- I don't- I didn't do anything-"

He sucked in a sharp breath and ignored the clattering of Amelia's box falling to the ground. He shoved his emotions back into a small box. He could control himself. He chucked the box at a metaphorical wall and let his voice fall back into a near monotone. 

"She's not following her own rules." Edgar's eyes pierced through the dark, intent and determined at Logan’s words. "It's like she's so mad that she just doesn't care anymore. There- There's no more cheats or shortcuts. She doesn't- doesn't care." 

Logan's good hand snapped out to grip Edgar's arm, willing the older boy to understand. 

"There are no rules anymore."

Tag list:

@notveryglittery @milomeepit @ab-artist @i-read-by-lamp @honeythanvinegar @confinesofpersonalknowledge @bangthekobrakid @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl @unknownsandersfan @quietwords-loudthoughts @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @beach-fan @mirandatheangel @yourhappypappypatton @fandoms-winkitywonk @1totally-not-an-alien1 @nerd-in-space @sunshine-in-a-petal @selfdestructivecoward @probably-to-many-cheesesticks @lizziepopanime @darkle-elkrad @thatvexingvexen @the-kiwi-ghost @sanderstalker @himrachel @creepyfloof @tmntmlpandtfa @your-average-outcast @karmels-stuff @many-muses-many-loves @unknownpuppet @midnighttalex12 @idkaurl

#Sanders sides #Adoption AU #Logan Sanders #Royality #MTO #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Child Abuse #Violence #Homophobia #Racism #Trumbpull being Trumpbull #Women being awesome #Frisk I love Rachel so much #Please don't kill me for this #I feed of tears that's all #miraculously their own

[pinklocksoflove]

♪  -  Each movement clicks as position locks to another - the music box enough to cover the most of it on stage - creating an illusion of smooth movement. As much as an old machine can do. As sounds of steps grow closer, her dancing state is automatically switched to IDLE_STATE, INTERACTION_GREET: Turn towards source of sound AND trigger audio line: ❝ - Welcome, new dancers, welcome to my Gallery!❞

Felix scans the mechanical ballerina, nothing untoward from the scan results.

"Well howdy there ma'am. I ain't much for dancin' except maybe a prospector jig every now and then, but maybe I could strum on my guitar for ya." The robot cowboy takes a step closer to the other.

"If it suits you."

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

The Cure

Bucky Barnes x Reader Drabble

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader,  Steve Rogers  |  Word Count: 1493

Warnings: Nothing but fluff. A drabble. This is what happens when I’m bored. Spotify is my nemesis. The Cure by Lady Gaga

You looked up from your book when the door opened.

Bucky, in all his combat gear, stumbled into your shared suite within the Avengers compound, shedding guns, gloves, and grenades with such disregard for their explosive nature it had you leaping to your feet. The look on his face spoke plainly of just how hard the latest mission had been.

Going to him, you grabbed for the belt he was getting ready to chuck across the room, the one with at least three grenades, and gently laid it over the back of the sofa. He went still, just stood there, shaking, breathing, anger radiating off him in waves.

Lifting your hand, you laid it gently against his clenched jaw. You only had one question. “Is everyone alright?”

He gave a jerky nodded.

Alive, then, but someone was hurt. “Steve?”

“Barton.”

“Bad?”

“He’ll be out a while, but he’ll live.”

Sighing in relief, you turned your attention to the buckles over his chest, working them open so his vest could slide off. Tugging his shirt from his waistband, you worked it up his abs.

“What you doing, doll?”

“Taking care of you. Is that alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Pressing up on your toes, you give his shirt a tug. “Arms up.”

A small smile twitched his lips as he complied. “Yes, ma'am.”

Drawing it off his head, the silver of his vibranium arm was revealed. A frown marred your features as you took in the explosion of bruises across his ribs, the laceration down his arm. Moving around behind him, hands gentle, you walked them over his broad back, flinching when you found more bruises.

His hair was filthy, appearing as if he’d taken a tumble through some mud at some point.

Returning to his front, you took his hand and led him through the room to the washroom.

Toeing off his boots while you turned the shower on, you turned back in time to take over when his hands sought his belt. As it came loose, you hooked your fingers in the waist of his underwear, drawing them down as you lowered to your knees. Helping him out of his socks, his fingers skated gently through your hair, a tender caress, a silent thank you.

Rising to your feet, you encouraged him into the shower. Removing your clothing with speed, you stepped in behind him. Already the water was turning brown, running in muddy streams down his face, chest and back. Eventually, you would ask, but not yet, not while his breath hitched and rattled.

Taking up the shampoo, you moved before him, unsurprised when his hands latched to your hips. Warm and cold, they stayed still, his thumb dragging small circles occasionally, but otherwise, his movements were minimal, almost as if he were afraid to move too much as if he’d shatter and break if he did. Stretching up, you worked the lather through his hair, picking out twigs and leaves, painting a picture of a flight through the brush at some point, or a hard run for his life.

The idea of it took your breath, but you didn’t let it show, not now while he was still living whatever hell he’d fought. Tipping his chin up, you helped the water rush over his scalp, lathering a second time when it again ran murky. He had beautiful hair, dark and soft, a pleasure to touch. Seeing it like this was a travesty.

Picking up a sponge and the bottle labelled antiseptic wash, you dumped a generous amount onto it. Bucky still had issues with doctors, medical bays, and cold metal tables. He did alright with Bruce, but when Banner wasn’t available, or the memories were riding him hard, only you would do.

The lab had created the soap with Bucky in mind, something he could use to wash out the worst wounds until he was comfortable having someone check him out.

You’d gotten the stuff in a paper cut once. It stung like a wicked bitch, but he didn’t even flinch when you washed out the cut on his arm, what was apparently a bullet graze on his thigh, and the strange slice you realized was a knife wound on the back of his neck. The idea of a blade anywhere near his throat had fear pounding in your heart as you touched it with your fingertips. “Bucky?”

“Self-inflicted.” He looked out at you from behind a veil of wet hair.

You arched a brow.

“Later.” 

Humming softly, you finished up, washing his thighs and calves, making sure both bruises and cuts were all covered by the soap. It’s healing properties, combine with his advance metabolism, would have the dark patches and frayed skin looking like new in no time.

Turning off the water, you stepped out, wrapped a towel around yourself, and returned with a big fluffy one to work over all of him. Drying his back you leaned forward, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

He shivered but remained quiet.

You scrubbed the towel over his head, drying the shaggy locks, before urging him into the bedroom. Finding him a pair of briefs, you handed them over, watching as he slid them up his thighs, dressing swiftly in your own tank and shorts. A return to the bathroom had you retrieving the first aid kit.

Laid out on the bed, you silently doctored all his wounds, wrapping and bandaging when necessary. At his feet, you took out a bottle of lotion and worked it into his soles with your thumbs. He groaned, turning into putty beneath your touch.

You rubbed both feet, relaxing the tight arches, before shifting up to give his right hand the same treatment. It, too, was tense, as if it had been clenched hard for some time.

When you were finished, you climbed up on the bed, pulled the duvet up from the foot, settled in the mound of pillows and drew his head to your chest. Running your fingers through his hair, you hummed a quiet tune, soft and soothing.

His arms wrapped around your waist, tugged you in tight, and for the first time since he’d come home, Bucky took a full breath and relaxed.

“Baby,” he whispered, his face lifting to tuck up against your throat, lips leaving a gentle kiss. 

“S’okay, Bucky.” Drawing your hand down his back, you pet him like a cat, calming the writhing tide of memories and fears which haunted him.

“Love you.” On a quiet sigh, he fell asleep.

Continuing to pet and stroke, you waited, knowing another would join you, seeking the comfort of familiarity you were happy to offer.

The door opened.

You looked up, smiled at Steve in his pajama pants and t-shirt, and threw back a corner of the duvet. “C’mon.”

He crawled in, tucked his face against your abdomen, and slung an arm over both you and Bucky.

“Thanks, doll,” he murmured, squeezing gently.

“It’s fine, Stevie.” Threading your fingers through his hair, you hummed softly, happy to comfort your soldier and his best friend.

It was nothing untoward, Stevie in your bed. They’d talked about the past in New York as kids when they’d often bunked together to keep little Steve from freezing. Even after, as big Steve, when exhaustion hit, they habitually fell face down on the same flat surface together.

The first night it had happened accidentally after you’d moved in with Bucky had been a bit of a shock. Steve’s blond head had rested against the back of your shoulder, but as you’d grown up with siblings of your own, and occasionally bunked together when someone had a nightmare, you’d let it go and gone back to sleep.

Steve had done a lot of stuttering come morning, but you shrugged it off.  So he cuddled. Who cared? Sleeping between two human furnaces had proven delightful when it was cold outside.

When Steve rubbed his nose against your abdomen, you giggled quietly.

“I mean it, doll face.”

“I know, Stevie. Have a nap. You can tell me how Bucky slice open the back of his neck later.”

Humming, he chuckled. “He was pretending to be He-Man.”

“What?” you snickered softly.

“Mmm, the whole sword strapped to your back thing. Good thing he used a little knife. He might a lopped off his head otherwise.”

“Punk,” Bucky grumbled.

“Jerk,” Steve replied.

“Can’t a guy get any sleep without you two yackity-yacking?” He gave Steve a lazy push. “Go find your own girl. Stop loving on mine.”

“Nah. Little sis cuddles are the cure for all things.” Snuggling deeper he shoved Bucky back, nothing more than a weak push.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an overgrown security blanket. Both of you hush up and sleep,” you quipped without heat.

Mumbles of, “Yes ma'am,” came from both sides as they drifted off together.

Patting both of your boys, your lover and the one you considered your brother, you drifted off, grateful the love you shared was enough to fix what ailed them.

-The End-

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter solider x reader #winter soldier #the winter solider x reader #drabble #the cure #steve rogers

[iammarylastar]

Warning: racist content, violence and blood.

Chapter 4: Troubles

“Awww! What a gorgeous baby you have there! Boy or girl?”

The lady of the immigration service who was in charge with them couldn’t stop babbling, a wide grin taped on her face.

“She was meant to be a boy. She’s a she!” Stefan showed off, his precious baby girl in his arms.

“What a drop dead gorgeous lady! How old are you Princess?” She dropped her pen to reach out and stroked the fatty calves of the wiggling baby girl.

“She will hit 6 weeks in a few days. She was born on board!”

“She is a beauty! Congratulations and ̀ welcome to Australia!” She nicely said. Australian seemed to be very nice and welcoming people.

“And what’s your name, little angel?”

“Miss Lizzy Gibson! You’re not paid to talk rain and good weather with migrants but to register them.” Her boss coldly called her to order.

Blushing furiously to be scold like a child, the young woman adjusted her glasses up her nose, grabbed her pen back, cleared her throat and asked, a serious frown between her eyebrows:

“OK. Name?”

“Courtney.” Stefan proudly announced, lifting the tiny girl up to tickle her chubby cheek with his nose.

“Well. Your first name Ma'am?” She conscientiously wrote down the precious information.

“Mieke.” She answered, making the woman stop writing.

“Jewish?” She quirked an eyebrow.  The woman nodded shyly but kept her eyes straight on hers.

All the Jewish people who disembarked here in Sydney usually looked exhausted, frightened and lost, averting their gaze down to the floor, trembling in fear to be beaten to death or worse while confessing their religion. They’d often lost everything : family, friends, house, honour and dignity.  But not those two. Three. The young couple seemed happy and blessed, together with that cutie pie the man held lovingly against his chest.

“You?” She asked the man, suddenly hit by his stunning blue gaze, her mouth getting dry before such an handsomeness.

“Stef… Stephen.” He hesitated. And got obviously uncomfortable. Weird.

“And where are you from?” Her job was also to find out traitors or Nazis. Her hierarchy’s instructions were to send any suspicious case to the upper stage, where strong men would roughly get the truth out of them.

“London, England.” The woman firmly uttered.

That made sense, their accent sounded European’s. Most of the candidates to exile came from this troubled part of the world.  The man, as handsome as he looked, was still acting suspiciously, nervously stroking and patting his newborn’s back, shifting from one foot to another in a too fast pace.

Nonetheless, she couldn’t resolve herself to denounce his strange behaviour, promising him and the whole family to the hell of policy questioning, demand in custody during what could be a months-long investigation.

“And I guess you lost your identity papers… whilst the destruction of your house?” She started, her long, meaningful look inviting Mieke to complete the story.

“Yes. An air raid destroyed all the area where we lived. These two suitcases are all we have now. And her.” Mieke spoke, subtly shoving back in her pocket the false documents she had been fiddling for the beginning of their encounter. Covering her husband’s hand with hers, stroking both her man and child, she threw a begging stare at the woman.

“I’m so sorry to hear about such a tragedy. Thanks God you’re safe. And your daughter will have a good life here.”

“Again welcome to Sydney Mr and Mrs Courtney. I wish you the very best, for you and miss… Jesus I forgot to note it!”

Stefan opened his mouth, the woman obviously misunderstood what he had said, but Mieke cut him off.

“Brittany. We thought it could be a nice reminding of where she’s from. It’s out little Bree.” She lied with such self-assurance Stefan thought for one second it was true.

Plus he liked how it sounded. A hint of Brandt, a hint of their past. The perfect name for their baby girl. The perfect mix of their past to start to build their future. A brighter future for them all.

“Owww! How beautiful name you’re wearing darling!” She rambled in awe again, while writing the name down the precious paper. She checked all the items were filled then stamped the three copies, and handed one to Mieke.

“You have me disturbed from my task, little doll. Sorry I can’t resist to kiss her, may I?”

She was already up her chair, walking around her desk. She stopped near Stefan, waiting for permission. He nodded though he felt like she was playing tricks to take his daughter from him and throw him in jail for misspelling his name or caught in the act of lying.

He relaxed a bit whilst crossing the genuine shiny gaze with which she looked at his offspring. Lightly patting the baby girl’s back, she attacked her chubby cheeks, stroking and kissing every pieces she could.

“Ohhh little princess you’re so adorable!” She glanced at Mieke, both women had a large grin taped on their faces. Women. ..

“I’m already fond of her! ”

“Miss Gibson! ” the boss barked from behind them.  “Contact with migrants is totally forbidden, so have I to remind you the consequences of disobey an order?”

Startling, the woman squeezed quickly Stefan’s hand and rushed back to her desk, apologizing to her grumpy boss, her look on the floor.

Sitting down, she gathered the papers spread on her desk, mumbling to the couple.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Was worth the reprimand.” Then spoke louder the usual speech  “Welcome to Australia Mr Courtney. The authority will study your case and you’re waited next month with wife and child to finalize your identity papers and immigration file.”

She wrote down the date and time of the appointment on a squared paper and reached out for Mieke to take it. Miss Gibson winked at the couple, placing her forefinger on her lips to seal whatever secret she wanted to keep from her boss’ ears.

*

Stefan grabbed then yanked at Mieke’s wrist, making her face and bump into him. Stealing her lips in a searing kiss, he pinned her roughly against the wall of their new flat.

Gasping for air, Mieke whispered whilst being nipped and licked along her neck.

“Stefan, what’s that for?”

Not that she was complaining, but it has been a long, stressful day and she craved to test their bed.

They had walked across the whole town, seeking after an address miss Lizzy had scrawled in the back of the appointment note.

128 Kookaburras Street, Sydney. Ask for Cora. Good luck. Lizzy Gibson.

They had finally reach the street, exhausted and soaked in sweat, Mieke’s arms burned and hurt for holding miss Courtney, Stefan’s shoulders and hands dead for lifting the two luggage for miles. Both had worn their heavy woolen coats all the way, under the hard sun of the Australian summer.

Cora was Lizzy’s cousin. She lived in a small house which had an extra tiny flat to rent next door. She was as in love at the first sight with baby Bree as Lizzy had been and more than happy to have that lovely couple as neighbours.

The two floors furnished flat was cozy, there was just a kitchen and a water closet downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. No bathroom here but she nicely offered them to use hers as often as they needed. Plus a free babysitter whenever they want or need to entrust the little girl.

Bree was soon asleep, they manage to make a crib with a blankets and a big basket they borrowed to Cora. Time to settle down and enjoy their new home.  Mieke would happily crash down their bed and sleep for the next three days.

The way her husband grinded against her thigh made her realize they could test all their new bed’s potential.

He grinned against her skin, teasing her:

“I just can’t wait to start our honeymoon babe. ”

“Honeymoon?"  It must be the Australian thick air, they’ve been married for 6 months already and had enjoyed a long, sensual, suave and Earth-shattering honeymoon in London.

"I’ve never got to make love to my new wife.” Lifting her up swiftly from the ground, he walked her towards their bedroom, which he intended to fully take advantage of.

“Come here, Mrs Courtney, let’s have some fun in there.”

*

Unfortunately, all the money they had saved wasn’t worth that much then.  Untoward side effect of an economy being in war. Marvin provided a job on the docks to Stefan, they needed arms to unload the cargos down the ship. After only three days of getting up at the crack of dawn and lifting too much heavy stuff till sunset, Stefan had to forfeit, the wound on his stomach hurt like a bitch and he got fever, which had Mieke worried to death.

Marvin worried too and strictly forbad Stefan to come back to work. He promised him to find a job more appropriate, like truck driver or foreman but in no case he would want to see Stefan lifting heavy boxes.

That stubborn German insisted to leave the bed and have his job back. He had to afford the rent and refused to see Mieke forced to leave their daughter to work herself to death.

“I’m not the one who’s dying for working my ass off.” She snapped at him when he wretchedly fell on the floor, too weak to stand up straight.

“Stop scolding me woman. You’d better bring your little ass here and give me a hand to get up.” He laughed when she wiggled her ass before his nose, pretty sure it could help him to get better.

Pulling on his hand, she managed to have him up, letting him lean heavily on her shoulder. Stefan stumbled back, hooking his arms around her waist, making them both tumble on the bed. He rolled over her, hissing from some pain coming from his abdomen.

She laughed out loud when feeling his not-weak-anymore member which was grinding against her belly.

“Let me practice you once or twice. It will help to recover faster.” He teased in her ear, biting on her neck.

“Word.” She just uttered, before being kissed roughly and hearing her panties torn and thrown to the side.

* They got up early that day. They were expected at the Immigration department to get their official Australian documents as political refugees.  They were registered as English citizen and with a job and respectable situation, it won’t be long before they got their Australian citizenship. Technically, Courtney  -damn her name is Brittany now- could be considerate as an Aussie, like they say Down Under, the boat she was born on flew the Australian flag. To tell the truth, none of them really cared. As long as they were together, a roof over their heads, happiness filling their plates.

New name, new start, new life.

They celebrated that day by having one of the best sex they’d ever had,  laughing between their sighs of pleasure, him tickling her sides while she was purposely leaving marks on his neck.

Had he been aware it was the last time he was making love to his wife, he would have made it last longer. He would have been more careful to record her slightest moans, the feeling of her lips on him, the softness of her skin and curves. Every line of her beautiful face.

Wails coming from the crib forced them to get out of bed, and get ready for their appointment.

Knock, knock.

Stefan quickly put a shirt on and walked downstairs to open the door to this unexpected visitor. Probably Cora, their neighbour, who was used to bring them extra veggies or bottle of milk she had. Or someone turned angry by their loud screams of their latest ecstasy. He chuckled at the thought as he grabbed the doorknob.

“Mr Stephen Courtney? "  Two men all suited in seriousness and black uniforms were standing on the threshold, papers in hand.

"Yes?”

He thought Australian authorities were so kind to bring them the documents at home. It would keep them from a long walk across the city; Rain was beginning to fall, and he wouldn’t want Courtney  -Bree, he wasn’t used to call her that- to be soaked and grumpy. He drew a filthy smirk on his face; he could put the baby back in her bed and Mieke back to their.

“Does a certain Captain Stefan Brandt mean something to you, Mr. Courtney?” The man asked.

His heart stopped. His mouth got dry. His grip tightened on the knob, his knees getting weak for a second.

“No.” He curtly replied.

Mieke popped up behind him, and stopped the baby talk she was singing to Courtney. Bree.

“We were talked a German SS officer by the name of Stefan Brandt had arrived by sea with wife and kid, and tries to hide behind false name here in Sydney.”

Despite the stabs in his guts, Stefan  -Stephen!- stood up straight, poker face.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m afraid I can’t accept your answer Mr. Courtney. The sailor who spit out the information was pretty clear: a tall dark blond male with blue eyes and a damn pretty brunette who gave birth in the ship to a lovely baby girl, about 6 weeks ago. How old is your baby girl Mr Courtney? If I’m not mistaken, you told the immigration service lady she was born on board.”

Connor.

This stupid Irish was almost dumb with an empty stomach, but completely unable to hold his tongue after three drinks.

Stephen clenched his teeth, and didn’t answer.

Staring coldly behind his shoulder, the man continued :

“Does that pretty lady of yours know about that?”

“No. She doesn’t.” He cut him off.

“If I may, I’d love to hear it from her.” He insisted, one step forward.

“No, you may not."  Stefan stepped back to protect his wife and child.

"Now if you would excuse us, we’re expected.” Stefan grabbed Mieke’s hand, interlocking their fingers together. No. Nobody would divide them.

The man stiffened and reached his arm out, preventing them to walk further out.

“I’m sorry but you’re not going anywhere. You’ll follow us to the police station where we’ll proceed to an official interrogation. I’d like to clear some things up about who you are. Or who you pretend to be.”

Mieke crushed her husband’s hand, holding her breath. No. Not that curse again.  She bit her lips which were going to whisper her husband’s name. She wouldn’t risk making a mistake and jeopardize his chance.

“Baby…” she tried.

The tense filled the air around them and Brittany started wailing, her cries getting louder despite her mother’s attempt to calm her down. Losing battle.

The man in black grinned devilishly. “Think wise, Mr. Courtney or whatever your name is. We ’re empowered to use the force if necessary and there are things nobody here is willing for your wife and your adorable child to witness. Aren’t we?”

Stefan clenched his teeth, jawlines sharp. He could feel Mieke trembled. Following these guys was the smartest thing to do, they had repeated their story again and again, to be ready for a moment like that. They had just pictured they would be settled in an office of the Immigration Department building, not here, on their own household. He nonetheless couldn’t resolve himself to let go off the knob he was pulverizing.

No. He won’t leave his house. He won’t leave his wife. Or his daughter. No way. He won’t allow anyone to jeopardize his family, his happiness. He couldn’t stand to figure out his baby girl growing up without her dad. Never let his devastating childhood happen again.

The man was not known to be patient. He was the head detective of the Sydney police department, in charge with the possibly ‘alien enemy’ cases. He was very skilled to detect the cheaters, he got nose for lies and inconsistencies in the stories that are a complete fabrication. He could worm the truth out of the toughest guy, beating up those rats was his favorite part of his job. He had some Nazis or deserters on his list of prides, and was craving to add this one. As cute as his little family seemed, he wouldn’t fool him. A German wuss and a Jewish princess, he shivered in disgust. He would never allow bad blood invade his country. Australia deserved the best of white, honest people.

The cries of the ashamed mixed-blood baby started to piss him off and the brazen faced standing still in front of him wrecked his nerves. He was the law, he was mandated by the Australian government to take that man for questioning. He had to submit to his authority.

“Please, follow me.” He ordered.

Stefan didn’t even move a finger, but tightened his grip on Mieke. He glanced at her, to snap once again to her gorgeous face, which was wasted by terror. She was clung to her screaming daughter, petrified by the situation.

Couldn’t they just be happy? Left alone, just the three of them?

“Now!” The man barked, grabbing Stefan’s wrist.

Game over.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Stefan yanked at the man’s grip. He knew he was wrong -oh yes he was- but he saw no other options.

Though the man was short and skinny, he was quick to strongly punch Stefan in the face, then in the guts, obviously used to fight.

Mieke screamed as she witnessed his husband crashing down the floor, grunting loudly as he wrapped his arms on his stomach.

She jumped forward to grab his husband, the baby roaring out in her other arm.  The man bluntly pushed her backward, purposely crashing a foot on Stefan’s hand as he poorly tried to roll on all four.

“Bastard!” He growled between his teeth, the taste of blood invaded his mouth. “Stay away from her!”

The man bent over his face, pressing his heel harder on Stefan’s hand, eliciting a loud rumble from the back of his throat.

“Are you giving me orders, Mr. Courtney? Do you think you’re allowed to open your mouth? I gave you the opportunity to talk lately but you just screwed it up.” He lifted his heel just enough to crash it violently back on Stefan’s hand.

Stefan howled in pain, curling his knees under his chest in a desperate attempt to stand up.

“Down!” He yelled at Stefan, kicking violently in his side again. “You’ll stand up only when I decide you could.”

“No!” Mieke screamed out, kneeling down near him.

The man kicked her roughly in the shoulder, making her fall hard on the floor. Tightening her grip on Courtney not to let her down, Mieke shrieked both in fear and rage.

“FUCK YOU!” Stefan shouted , tugging at the sleeve of the man who was threatening his family.

“Don’t you dare!"  The man lost his nerves and hit Stefan like his fist was a hammer, again and again until his knuckles got red.  Stefan could only glance at Mieke who was soaked in tears, hugging Courtney safely against her chest, rocking her to make her stop crying.

Then the man started kicking relentlessly on Stefan’s belly, smirking at the crack of his ribs. Gasping from a flash of pain, Stefan threw up, breakfast and blood, while hearing in the distance, his brain getting dizzy and confused:

"And consider yourself lucky I won’t throw your Jewish wife and spawn in a camp. They’re all full of rats and black beetles. I don’t want to add more garbage out there.” The man said in his ear, throwing a threatening glance to Mieke.

“Mieke…” Stefan weakly whispered.

The man viciously smirked in contentment.  He had warned him, he was the law. He had power of life and death on strangers, mostly traitors to their countries. He doubted for a second that the guy was a soldier, a captain. He was so weak, despite his large frame and bulging arms.

The woman was still crying , the baby screaming for her little life.

“Shut the fuck up!” He growled at the two females, walking across Stefan’s body, a threatening fist over his head.

Mieke crept back against the wall, hiding her baby girl with her arms. The palm violently hit her face, making her head jerk to the side. Crouching down, the man wiped the tears that soaked her face, letting trails of blood, Stefan’s blood, on her bruised jaw.

“Look at you, poor lamb. Sometimes I feel like the Führer is right. Jewish aren’t better than those dirty natives. You’re even not able to find someone strong enough to protect you.” Narrowing his eyes to scrutinize her face and swollen cheek, he snorted.

“What a shame, you’ve got a damn pretty face. Stay hidden until the bruises disappear and then you could hook a bit to save money.  Pretty Jewish princesses like you make good whores on the docks.”

She averted her eyes from his disgusting lustful stare and locked Stefan’s beaten face. Clenching her trembling jaws not to let a sigh or a sob out, she silently cry watching the waste that was her husband.

Stefan couldn’t move a thing, turning his head to witness that bastard hit his wife was already a miracle. Tears flowing down his face, blood slipping out from his cut mouth, he made a lame attempt to reach out his hand towards her.

“Mieke..” he barely whispered, bubbles of blood spitting from his mouth and nostril.

“DAMMIT! This vermin is hard to knock down!” The man left Mieke to face the nearly unconscious body of that so-called Mr. Courtney.

One last kick in his abs, one last punch on his jaw, one last heart-rending scream from Mieke calling his name covered by his daughter’s cries. Then nothing.

Black out.

@tigpooh67 @jaicourtneyseyes @kenziKen @bookwarm85 @beautifulramblingbrains @jaihardy @badassbaker @pathybo @jojuarez

@singingpeople @pernilleals @beltz2016 @captstefanbrandt  @writingismyhappytime @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @jaihardi @ashtotes @muremlinchen @anditcametopass

@societalfailure

@red-diary

#the exception #troubles #chapter 4

[lupienne]

‘I Can Try’

A/N: Ok this was a short scene inspired by TWD 167.

Apologies if Andrea is OOC. I've never attempted to write her before. Also, this is cheesy as fuck and stupid, but nobody said inspiration always led to good things.

Writing under the cut.

‘I Can Try.’

The influx of people had paused, as if everyone was taking a breather in between each of her last breaths.

Andrea took a deep, sweet gulp of air and wiped her sweating forehead. Good. She needed this minute to empty the pressure behind her eyes that she'd held back, then to wipe it away and brace herself for the next round.

Outside, she thought she heard a voice raised angrily. A door slamming. Through the worsening effects of the fever, there were moments where she forgot how bad off Alexandria was right now.

In the hallway, she heard footsteps. Another visitor. She remained as she was, propped up by several soft pillows. Aside from the bouts of dizziness, the sweating, and the heat radiating from her skin...she didn't feel too horrible – yet. She could still do this for a while.

The door opened and she scowled.

“Uh.” Her visitor stood there awkwardly for a second, then smiled that shit-eating grin he was famous for.

“They weren't going to let me see you.”

She just eyed him, wondering what idiocy was going to come out of that big mouth. Negan sank his hands into his leather coat pockets.  

“You were a badass, and you were hot as fuck. I'd have been honored for you to be the one to kill me.”

Her eyes rolled, and she snorted. A sudden cough jolted her ribs. And finally, she gave a short laugh.

Negan's lips quirked up, just slightly, at one corner.

“You're speaking in the past tense already,” she noted. “Almost everyone is...”

“Yeah. That's awkward.”

“Thanks, I guess. For the compliment.” Even if it was coming from a man who masturbated with a baseball bat. It wasn't saying much.

“Yeah.” He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Well, uh, I know you've got a lot more people to see. I've taken up enough of your time. Bye, Andrea.”

He left the rest unspoken. And you don't have much time left.

He turned to leave and she watched his broad back start heading through the doorway. She'd wanted him dead, and maybe that want hadn't faded – but maybe.... there was a reason he was still alive. Despite everything. Maybe she could make a reason.

“Negan, wait a second.”

He paused, but didn't turn.

“I'm not going to kill you.”

“That's kind of obvious.”

She ignored that, and just came out with it. “Look, I want you to do something for me.”

He turned, genuine curiosity in his eyes. She expected snark or taunts, but Negan stayed quiet.

She ground her teeth. “You know if you hurt any of them.. Rick...Carl...I'll crawl out of my grave twice to get to you.”

He gave a plaintive, puppy-dog look. “I'm not planning to hurt them...”

“Good. That's what I thought.” She sighed. “Rick likes you, for whatever reason-”

His eyes brightened. “Rick said he likes me?”

She frowned. “No. And maybe I don't mean it like that. But...there's something about you that fascinates him. Maybe he sees himself in you, in those times he had his feet set on going down a really dark path – and you're what would have happened if he had.”

She knew Rick might believe that...but she never did, or would. For him to even compare himself to someone like Negan...? But this wasn't about what she thought, because her bearing on the world was fading fast.

Negan was looking at her – but not really – she knew there was a crack in the wall's plaster behind her. His bold eyes were fixated there.

“He might not say it, but he believes that you've changed. I don't...but I've been proven wrong by Rick a few times before.”

Negan slipped his hands into his pockets again. “...I can't say I'm a fucking saint...I can't even say I'm not the exact same asshole you knew before, but...I don't want to be that anymore.”

“I'm the one on my deathbed,” she smirked. “Don't be confessing your sins to me. What I'm saying is...if Rick believes you can change and be of value...then I'm going to trust his trust in you. I'm going to ask you a favor.”

“Sure. Fucking lay it on me.”

“Take care of him for me. Don't break any more parts of him that still hope. Keep him safe. Don't let him fall to his knees and stay there, because... I'm not going to tell him this... but I'm afraid for him. I can only motivate him so much...before...” She took a breath. “...before I can't anymore.”

He didn't answer, a crease appearing between his dark eyebrows.

“Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah,” he uttered, finally. “I can... try.”

“That's all anyone can do.” The sweat was trickling down her forehead and she blotted it with her sheet. Her eyes needed emptying again, and she was damned if she'd do it in front of him.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Well. If that's it... I think I ought to go. They'll think I did something fucking untoward with how long I've been in here.”

“Yes, it'd be so awful if you were to kill me now.” She smirked, and he matched it. “Get your ass out of here, and don't make me regret not having Rick kill you.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Negan gave a slight bow with one big hand clasped to his chest, and then left just as quietly as he'd come in.

Perhaps Rick had been right about  this – about mercy – just as he'd been right about building up instead of tearing down. She only hoped this promise would be kept – so the beacon of the new world could stay strong, stay shining.

She slipped lower in the bed, just for a moment's rest. Bracing herself for a fresh influx of faces. Theirs filled with a fresher, rawer kind of sadness than the kind that lurked behind the ever-present lines of Negan's smirk.

It was hard, and she cried at the thought of it – but them...all of them... were the reason she had stayed alive, and the reason she would die, and she'd be damned if she let them see anything but her love...

...and her joy that her last memories would be to see them all still breathing, crying, feeling, hoping, living.

#twd spoilers #andrea #negan #comicnegan> #167 #spoilers #Andrea and Negan convo #Rick #corny #lups writing

[svartalfhild]

The Paladin and the Prodigy

Rating: K Words: 2,522 Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort Summary: Heliodoro is a young half-orc Paladin of Corellon just a year outside of his training, making his way in the world as a stage actor.  In the middle of the High Forest and halfway to his next performance at Loudwater, he has a fateful meeting with a girl in silver spectacles.

A/N: This is the true story of how the new DnD characters @betweenrivers-betweenworlds and I made met (they tell a very different story to other people).  They don’t yet belong to a campaign, but I’m so excited by all the little ideas about them that we’ve come up with that I felt compelled to write some of their story.  I may write more of their adventures in future, especially if people turn out to like this.  If things get really out of hand, I may even do a webcomic, because I just love these two so much. As far as setting context goes, these characters exist in the Forgotten Realms setting and this story takes place on 4 Tarsakh 1487 DR.

- - -

The scent of a recent thunderstorm clung to the air, seeming to add a further softness to the damp soil beneath Heliodoro’s feet as he walked along a well-trodden path within the High Forest.  It would have been a refreshing sensation if not for the evening fog that permeated the area, lending an eeriness to the atmosphere that, while delightfully dramatic, had him uneasy.  He was well aware that this land was ruled by elven tribes and fey who would not necessarily show him mercy let alone any kind of friendliness.  Even the most beautiful places could be dangerous.

Something was about to happen.  He could feel it in his gut and like a tingling under his skin.  His dark eyes scanned the area, alert for anything out of the ordinary, made no more easy by the fog, as he could only see perhaps twenty feet ahead.

And then he heard it.  A shifting of foliage.  It was faint, barely audible, but he caught it, coming from somewhere at the left side of the road up ahead.  He gripped the hilt of the sheathed sword hanging from his hip more tightly, anticipating a surprise of some sort.  But one never came.  Not really.

What he found instead was a woman, thin as a switch with a pair of cracked silver spectacles on her pallid face, curled up on the ground, partially obscured by wet underbrush.  He rushed to her, feeling her wrist for a pulse.  She was still alive, but not by much.  Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch and her vital signs were fading. Placing his hands on either side of her face, he closed his eyes an concentrated, thinking of his oath to Corellon.  There came a soft gasp and he opened his eyes to find the woman’s had a little as well.

“It’s alright.  Corellon smiles upon you,” he told her, giving her an encouraging smile.  She didn’t say anything in response, only weakly grasping at his sleeve and giving shuddering breaths.  She needed proper healing, that much was obvious.  “I’ve got you.”

Putting his arms under her, he lifted her up and returned to his path along the road.  It would be no trouble, he was sure, even as far as he still had to go to the next trade outpost.  She weighed about as much as melon to him.  He supposed that most people might be concerned that she was actually a nefarious person, but he sensed nothing untoward about her, even with the aid of Corellon’s sight.

A light rain began to fall, creating a chorus of soft pings against his fine half-plate armor.  He quickened his pace.  His new companion would not recover if she was kept out in the cold and wet much longer.

He walked for what must have been a few more hours without incident. The woman he carried had been lulled to sleep by the gentle motion of his strides.  He knew it would help her recover, but it still made him a tad nervous and he checked her pulse every now and then to be sure that she hadn’t slipped away.

They were almost to the trade outpost when he heard the sharp snap of a stick and he turned to look where the sound had come from.  Instead of seeing the culprit, he felt an arrow swish past his head from behind, leaving a cut along his left cheek.

As he set his companion down and drew his sword and shield, bandits descended from the trees, surrounding them.  He puffed out his chest in a bold, challenging stance.

“Come at me, if your dare, but know that you are facing a Paladin of the Protector,” he declared.  The bandits were not deterred, some of them seeming even more enthusiastic, in fact.  They rushed him and he dispatched the first few with a hard shield bash and a thrust of his blade, but he took a kick to the small of his back, causing him to lose his footing and stumble.  He swung wide, slicing open the gut of a bandit about to attack him from the side, leaving just two to harry him.  His sword was knocked from his grip as he tried to recover, and he was put in a choke hold by a ruffian who was even larger than him. The remaining bandit lunged and he kicked, keeping his enemy back as he attempted to free himself from the other.

And then there came a horrible cry of pain in his ear and suddenly he could breathe again, leaving him free to roll out of the way of a sword thrust to the gut and recover his own blade, which was followed by another cry of agony.

When Heliodoro looked around, he saw the woman on the ground, propping herself up on one elbow with her other arm extended out as if she had thrown something.  There was a definite look of steely determination in her grey eyes and in his relief and surprise, he couldn’t help but give her a broad, tusky grin.  He wiped the blood from his blade on a bandit’s cloak and sheathed it before he returned to the woman’s side.

“Are you alright?” he asked, slinging his shield over his shoulder and helping her into a sitting position.  She nodded silently and tried to get up, though her legs were too weak and her feet kept slipping out from under her along the mud of the path.  Heliodoro was quick to take her by the shoulders and hold her steady.  “Let’s get going. You’re not well and I don't think either of us want this to be your grand finale.”

He made to pick her up again, but she recoiled.  She seemed determined to walk on her own two feet.

“Alright, but at least hold onto me.  I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself,” he told her, which she silently accepted, leaning on him and holding his arm with an unexpectedly tight grip.

It was slow going the rest of the way to the outpost and it continued to rain steadily, but Heliodoro didn't make any attempt to pressure his new companion into speaking, even to learn her name.  He had a feeling that she was easily spooked in her current state.  He said nothing at all until they had finally reached the inn.

Her cracked glasses fogged over upon entering the building and Heliodoro helped her into a chair before pressing a dry handkerchief into her small hand.  She looked away, as if she were embarrassed to have to take further charity from him, but he didn't call her out on it. Instead, he turned and approached the bar to introduce himself and request a pair of rooms and two hot meals.  The innkeeper looked a bit confused at first, seeing only him, but when she leaned over to look past his broad half-orcish shoulders, she spotted the woman he'd brought in, soaked and shivering in the corner.

“Who's your friend?” the innkeeper asked with a concerned frown.

“I found her unconscious by the side of the road.  I think something terrible may have happened to her,” Heliodoro explained, bringing deep sympathy to the innkeeper's face.

“Oh, the poor dear!  Gods smile upon you for helping her, sir.  Too many people ignore the misfortunes of others these days and who knows what might have claimed her if she'd been left out there.”

“Well, Corellon says that lifting up the helpless is an important step towards a better and more beautiful world, and I live by his teachings.”  At this, the woman took notice of the silver crescent amulet hanging around his neck and she smiled warmly where once she had regarded him with a polite distance.

“Any holy man of the Protector is welcome in my inn,” she told him before looking back at his companion.  “I think I have an old dress of my daughter's that might fit her.  It's nothing so fine as what she's wearing, bit at least it'll be dry.”

“Thank you kindly, ma'am.  I'll let her know.”

“It's no trouble, dear.”

With a smile and a small bow, Heliodoro turned away and sauntered back over to the corner.  He slid the key to the half-elf's room across the table to her and she silently took it, at which point, he noticed that the lenses of her spectacles were no longer cracked.  Oh, now that was interesting.  He decided, however, that he'd leave that discussion for when she was more comfortable.

“The innkeep says she might have some dry clothes for you.”

“What about you?”  The question was the first words he'd heard her utter in the entire few hours since he'd found her and he beamed, unable to hide his delight at her finally speaking.  He had been beginning to doubt that she could.  Her voice was quite soft, but there was an unmistakeable brogue to her accent that he knew to be common among the dwarven citadels and parts of Luruar.

“I'll be fine.  I know how to pack my things so that they won't get wet.” This answer seemed to satisfy her, as she nodded and passed back his handkerchief.  She was very wobbly on her feet as she got up and he watched her carefully as she made her way over to the bar, ready to leap for her if she should fall, but she made it alright and she allowed the innkeeper to patiently guide her up the stairs.

About an hour later, Heliodoro was lounging at the corner table, out of his armor and sporting dry clothes, when he saw his companion return. She looked much recovered, if a bit uncomfortable in the woolen cornflower blue dress she'd been given.  Her gait was steady but apprehensive as she approached him and reclaimed her seat across the table.

“I believe I haven't properly introduced myself.  My name is Zvezda Eliander, but I much prefer to be called Heliodoro.”  The paladin offered his hand to shake.  He didn't normally give out his real name, but he got the distinct feeling that if he was going to get anywhere with this woman, he was going to have to be very honest with her.

There was a long, awkward moment in which she gave no response beyond staring at him and his hand fell to rest on the table.

“What do you want from me?” she finally asked pointedly and he took notice of her very guarded, distancing posture.  Oh.  That explained a lot.  She clearly thought that he'd helped her with the idea of incurring a debt or to otherwise use her for his own gain.  Well, he would just have to set her straight on that.

“Nothing, I promise.  Just doing my duty to Corellon,” he told her, tapping the amulet hanging around his neck.  She narrowed her eyes at him, as if she were trying to discern whether she believed him or not. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she stopped glaring at him.

“You're a paladin of the Order of the Protector, aren't you?”  She had switched to Elvish with this question, which surprised him, but his smile did not falter.

“I am indeed.  When I completed my training last year, I decided to travel and honor my patron through the theatrical arts.  I'm currently on my way to Loudwater for my next performance,” he replied in equally flawless Elvish.  He seemed to have passed another test, because the woman relaxed from her defensive posture.

“Mornath,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“My name.  Mornath Sparrowswood.”  At this, Heliodoro beamed at her and offered her his hand once again.

“It's wonderful to meet you, Mornath.”  She seemed startled by his warm, sunny disposition, but she nonetheless shook his hand, which almost completely swallowed hers to rather comedic effect.

It was at this point that the barmaid appeared with their meals, setting two steaming plates before them and mugs of ale to match.

“On the house,” she told them, winking at Heliodoro.  He winked back. Mornath raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't comment until the barmaid had walked away.

“So you're that kind of holy man.”

“No, I just like to be friendly is all,” he laughed.  Mornath said nothing to this and instead simply looked very pensive as she dug into the baked potato on her plate.  It was odd.  For someone who was so clearly approaching the particularly worrisome stages of starvation, she was not showing it at all in how she ate.  She used her knife and fork and chewed her small morsels slowly, like some upper class lady who had had her knuckles smacked with a stick as a child for reaching for the wrong spoon.  It made Heliodoro even more curious about her than he already was.

“Mornath, you don't have to tell me anything about yourself that you don't want to, but I must admit I'm very intrigued by how notably unbroken your spectacles are,” he piped up after a long silence between them. She seemed startled by the comment and looked around as if she were afraid that others might be listening in.

“It was a simple Mending spell.  I'm, er...I'm a mage,” she confessed in a hushed voice, nervously tucking a lock of her damp bluish pale hair behind a pointed ear.

“You do arcane magic?  Well, color me impressed.  It's one thing to beseech a god for power, but to command the Weave through shear personal effort?  That's just badass,” Heliodoro practically gushed.  He could count the number of mages he'd met on a single hand and each of them had left him with the distinct feeling that arcane magic was this mysterious, formidable force that should not be trifled with.  It fascinated him.

He had not at all expected the bright sound that came out of Mornath in response.  It took a moment to register with him that she was giggling.  He found that he quite liked it and wanted to hear more of it, even if it was directed at him.

“Laughing at me, eh?”

“No, no!  It's just...you're so genuine.  I don't think I've ever heard someone talk about magic like that,” she replied through her laughter.  “My father would not like you in the slightest.”  Upon saying this, a sudden gloom came over her.  She stopped laughing and a look of abject misery took hold of her features, almost as if she were in pain.  Heliodoro was smart enough to realize that the reason he'd found Mornath in a ditch might well have had something to do with this father she spoke of, but he didn't pry to find out.

“Do you know where you're going?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from whatever was upsetting her.

“No,” she murmured, not looking at him.

“Well, you're more than welcome to come with me to Loudwater while you're figuring that out,” he offered, giving her another bright smile. For the first time, she gave him a proper smile in return.

“I'd like that.”

#Dungeons and Dragons #Forgotten Realms #Mornath Sparrowswood #DnD #fanfic #The Knight Stars

[madhavikunte]

The Angst: Chapter 4- Thou Shalt Not Cry

His phone was ringing incessantly. He was irritated by the fact that he was being disturbed in a meeting... by none other than Mishti. Why the hell was she calling him for? Didn't she have his bhai to pester? And his bhai even indulged her. Kunal kept on ignoring her call for the next half an hour. Finally, he picked up her 36th call.

"Why don't you understand I don't want to talk to you? I am busy."

He was about to disconnect the call when she blurted out "Abir is hurt. I brought him to the hospital."

"I am on the way... be on the line. Don't disconnect the phone."

Meenakshi was discussing a project with her AVP when she noticed him rushing down the corridor, into the stairwell. He didn't even wait for the lift. She caught hold of his secretary and enquired what the emergency was. She was informed that Mishti, his ex- fiance had called and Kunal left the meeting abruptly, while talking to her. She wondered what it must be that Kunal was responding to Mishti's call in this way. But where was he headed in such a hurry? She decided to track him. She could see him driving down towards the city centre. She checked Mishti's location. It was a hospital! What was Mishti doing in a hospital? And where was Abir? Mishti and Abir practically spent their whole day in each other's company. Afterall, they worked together. She tried to call Abir. He didn't pick up. But his location did show at the hospital. If Abir was with Mishti, why would she call Kunal there? Must be something related to Kuhu, she thought. But Kuhu's location was showing a saloon... in the exact opposite direction to where Kunal was headed... towards the hospital. She was getting restless. This was not related to Kuhu. Meenakshi was now worried for her son. Why was he not picking up the damn phone!

Kunal could have won a formula 1 championship that day. He drove like a maniac. He covered the half an hour long journey in just under 10 minutes.

The minute she saw Kunal rushing in towards the OT, Mishti collapsed on the ground.

When Naman pulled the trigger, little did he know that the bullet will find its mark. He had only intended to scare Abir and Mishti. But he ended up hurting Abir. As soon as Abir got hit, a panicked Naman dropped the gun and ran off from the scene, leaving a shell shocked Mishti to deal with the situation.

Abir was hit. He dropped to his knees, and collapsed on Mishti who was frozen in disbelief on the ground. A few random onlookers helped her to gently put him down on the ground. Someone flagged down a passing auto rickshaw and Abir was then taken to the nearest hospital. By the time they reached the hospital and Abir was rushed to the emergency, Mishti was soaked in his blood. She had tried her level best to contain the blood loss with her scarf. At the hospital, she mechanically went through the paper work, simultaneously trying to call Kunal, Abir's brother.

Abir was being shifted to the OT when Kunal finally answered her call. He reached in no time.

"What happened? When I asked about bhai at the reception, they said gun shot victim. How did you end up here? Who shot at bhai?"

Mishti couldn't find the right words, she was traumatised by the whole incident. The doctor came out of the OT and addressed Mishti. He said, "Ma'am, you have signed the consent forms but it's my duty to remind you... it's a grave injury. We will try our level best to extract the bullet, but God forbid if anything untoward happens, please don't hold the doctors and staff responsible. "

"Why are you saying that?" Kunal went pale at the thought of losing his beloved bhai.

"Sir, it's a serious injury and there was excessive blood loss. We might need more blood. Please arrange. The nurse will brief you shortly."

Meenakshi was continuously calling all the three numbers. Abir was not picking up. Mishti and Kunal it seemed were still on call with each other. She thought of calling one last time before heading out herself. She was about to redial when Kunal called.

By the time Rajvansh family reached the hospital, the operation was underway. Meanwhile, the Maheshwari family was wondering about Mishti's whereabouts. Her phone was continuously busy and her friends didn't have any idea where she had gone. A quick call to the NGO confirmed that both Mishti and Abir hadn't been there since morning. Vishambhar and Shaurya decided to head out in search of Mishti when the landline buzzed. Mishti had finally called home.

When the Maheshwari family reached the hospital, police were already present and Mishti was being questioned about the incident. She had regained her composure and narrated the whole incident.

Everyone was shocked to know it was Naman. Rajashree Maheshwari was on the verge of crying. She had taken a liking towards Abir as if he was her own son. And to have him shot at was her worst nightmare. She felt as if life was coming back a full circle. She had been through this harrowing ordeal once before, when Naman had shot at her son in law. She asked haltingly, "But how? He was supposed to be in jail. How did he get out?"

"No idea mother. Abir and I had personally ensured that he will stay there for a long time. God knows who bailed him out!" Shaurya wondered aloud.

Meenakshi Rajvansh was distraught. She didn't know how to react. She was numb with shock. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that her plans would backfire with such disastrous consequences. Her son was practically on a deathbed and it was her doing. Had she not been this over confident, had she listened to Parul's advice, this could have been averted. She wanted to reach out to her son, to wipe out his pain. She wanted to see him hail and hearty... full of life, just like what he had always been. And she had neglected him. Fought with him. Tried to manipulate him. No, she wanted to be with him. Give him all her time. She wanted to tell him how proud she was to be his mother. Above all, she wanted to shower him with all the love she had for him.

Kunal had been frantically trying to arrange for blood. His bhai was a rare gem. But his blood group was even rarer. They needed O negative. He should have reached here much before. Had he taken Mishti's call earlier, he could have had more time to search for blood. WHY? Why did he not talk to her right away when she called for the first time? His arrogance and his ego didn't let him take that call. If bhai didnt get blood in time... if bhai didn't wake up from this sleep ever... it would all be his doing. His hatred for Mishti had made him take such drastic measures... how on earth will he be able to redeem himself, if something happens to his beloved bhai!!

[zilyonaryo]

Nobyembre 24, 2018

Wala kaming tulog. Nakaidlip man ako, kaunting minuto lang. Iyon ay nang nasa baba lahat ang girl scouts para pumila sa paliguan. Gayunpaman, hyper pa rin ako pagbangon ko. Naisagawa ko pa rin ang task kong i-document ang activities.

Past 8 na natapos. Nakauwi sila nang masaya at ligtas. Walang untoward incident na nangyari. Saka lang din kami nakapag-almusal.

Past nine, naglatag ako sa gitna ng classroom para matulog. Hindi naman agad ako nakatulog dahil nagsidatingan na ang mga parents at estudyante para kunin ang financial assistance mula sa city hall. Nagtulog-tulugan ako.

Sobrang ingay nila. Sobrang gulo at ingay sa school. Hindi ako agad nakatulog. Nang mawala, saka siguro ako nakapikit. Past eleven naman ako bumangon para maglinis, magligpit, at maghugas ng mga kutsarang ginamit.

Hindi ako lumapit sa mga bata at magulang. Nakakainis kasi ang sistema. Ang gulo-gulo. Dapat sa adviser na ang ipinamigay para by classroom ang distribution. Haist! Kapag usapang-pera talaga!

Before 12, nakalabas na kami ng school nina Ma'am Vi, Ma'am Madz, at Ma'am Basil. Ako, past 1, nasa bahay na. Agad akong natulog. Hindi na ako nakakain.

Mag-aalas-sais nang bumangon ako. Nasagot sa mga oras na iyon ang sign na hinihingi ko. Ayaw ko na sanang dumalo sa workshop. Pero, may nag-text sa akin. Kaya naman, agad kong dinagdagan ang laman ng mga PPT presentations ko. Apat na oras kasi akong magto-talk. Kailangang maging produktibo ang mga participants.